Girls or Blokes?
by DeafLord28
Summary: John comes home frustrated, and finds a not-so-helpful Sherlock there. What happens when John blows up at him? Johnlock! Smut! M/M don't like don't read.


**Girls or Blokes?**

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This is a total smut fic. M/M Don't like, don't read. Johnlock.

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Chapter 1

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John was trudging up the steps to his and Sherlock's flat, arms laden with bags of groceries. He was also on his cell with a client, who had agoraphobia (the fear of being out if their own home), that Sherlock had just helped. He was doing his best to not sound out of breathe and be kind at the same time. John could hear Sherlock pacing upstairs, which meant he was on the brink of cracking another case. John made it to the door of the flat just as he was getting off the phone. He then managed to hang up, put his phone away, unlock, and open the door, all without spilling any of the groceries in his arms. He said an unconscious hello to Sherlock, not expecting a reply, and, unsurprisingly, not getting one. He had managed to put away all of the groceries before his dark-haired companion even acknowledged his presence.

"John, close the door. You're letting in a draft."

Sherlock said indigently, after stopping his continuous pacing and staring out the window, to the London Street below. John huffed in exasperation. Scowling, he spat, "Oh, sorry Sherl! Sorry that I left the door open after lugging the freakin' food we need to LIVE up the stairs while finishing talking to the client who paid for it! Sorry for making a draft!"

John had been feeling very agitated and somewhat used for a while now, and just unintentionally unleashed some of his frustration on Sherlock. He flopped into his chair, closing eyes before tears of frustration fell. He wouldn't cry.

"John, I..." Sherlock paused, and then sighed, closing his crystal eyes and holding the bridge of his nose.

If John hadn't known better, he would have thought that, maybe, Sherlock was about to apologize.

"I wish you wouldn't use that ridiculous name. I've told you 142 times now, I'm not fond of sentiment. I don't enjoy terms of endearment."

John opened his eyes. He stared that the tall, lanky figure before him. He began to laugh a bit hysterically. He had gotten his hopes up and believed he was going to actually get an apology.

"That's all you got out of that rant?! The fact that I used a nickname?! I can't believe you Sherlock. You truly don't understand anything do you? You can solve a case in 3 minutes but you don't understand human feelings."

John said standing up and slowly backing the taller man up against the wall.

"You never consider the possibility that there are things outside of your world of murder and mayhem. You've never once asked me if I'd like help getting the groceries in, or if I'd like to take a small vacation. You don't ever leave your 'mind palace' to see if I'm still around until you need my knowledge or input," John was on a roll now, and Sherlock was getting a bit overwhelmed, honestly, "You don't know even know my favorite food, or restaurant. You don't even know if I prefer girls or blokes!"

John finally ended, fury raging in his eyes. Sherlock had felt fine, relatively, that is, until the very end. He did indeed know John's favorite food, restaurant, even his favorite deodorant, cologne, toothpaste, and hair gel brands. He could repot everything John had said up till the end. 'You don't even know if I prefer girls or blokes!"

Sherlock had always assumed that John was straight. He very rarely deduced someone's sexuality. Unless it was important, like with Molly's boyfriends, he left that unknown until important. John had shown interest in The Woman. But then again, so did he, and if he had to have a label, he would be gay. Sherlock realized that he had been standing, mouth agape and wordless, for at least a full minute now. He had become uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was pressed up against a wall, with his precious blogger less than 6 inches from his own body. He did a very quick calculation; a quick deduction. He made a calculated decision and acted upon it.

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John had been waiting for a response from the tall, detective. He seemed to have stumped him. He honestly was sure if that was good or bad. "Did Sherlock truly not know he was gay? Did he regret inviting John along as his 'colleague'? Why did he have that odd glint in his eye? Wait, was he coming closer? Is he..."

He didn't get to finish that thought. Before he realized what was taking place, he found himself flipped around, with his back now on the wall instead of Sherlock, with said man forcefully pressing him closer to himself, pale, thin, lips locked on his own. His hands were being held above his head. He heard a moan, and he wasn't sure if it came from Sherlock or himself. That is, until he realized his lips had just opened. Sherlock, feeling this slight change in position, slide his tongue in the blonde man's hot, seemingly waiting, mouth. His tongue was soon bombarded with a taste that was, for lack of a better word, delicious. He had often (more often then he would truly admit) wondered what his blogger tasted like. He thoroughly enjoyed it. He was simply scrumptious. He began to wrestle with John's tongue in a fierce battle for dominance. He really did enjoy the way John writhed underneath his touch; moaning in his mouth. He smirked.

John wasn't sure if this was actually happening. Soon, it got to the point where he no longer cared. If this was only a daydream, then, well, he'll deal with the bulge in his pants once he woke up. Sherlock's tongue was a monster. John absently wondered if Sherlock had done this before. He battled for control for a while. After a bit, he gave up though. He moaned again, the forth? No, fifth time, into the devilish mouth on his own. He tried to free his hands. He wanted to touch that beautifully pale body pressed against him. He wanted to tear that purple, silk shirt off that strong, lithe body. He wanted so bad to touch that alabaster skin. He moaned again, a bit desperately, as he tried to free his hands again. He felt Sherlock smirk. Sherlock released the kiss, partly to make sure John got some air, partly to watch him squirm. His eyes dilated; almost completely black, cheeks bright red; and a large bulge inside his trousers. Sherlock wasn't an expert in the area of sex or pleasure, but he know enough about human anatomy to know that John was very... pleased with the change in activity. He would much rather be making out with his detective than arguing with him. Sherlock made another quick calculation. The blonde doctor looked up at the genius and begged him with his eyes to continue. Sherlock released John completely though, backing up. John looked so dejected that it almost hurt the sleuth. He turned and started towards his bedroom. "You're a man of adventure John. Do you want some more?" Sherlock asked, with a deeper, huskier voice. This was the first time he had spoken since he and his doctor had started snogging. It made John's blood turn to ice and made it boil in his veins at the same time. The doctor almost came right then and there. That voice! He had always loved the deep baritone, but he would give anything to make Sherlock's voice drip with that much lust. John was right behind Sherlock adore he replied, "Oh, God, yes."

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Do you like it so far? Have questions? Comment? Snide Remarks? Let me know!

~Ciao for now, DeafLord28


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